


Dreaming of You Tonight

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: Sandor dreams of his little bird.





	

“Harder, ser, harder,” she squealed as their skin slapped together with each thrust. Sandor growled and pushed her away. Pulling up his breeches, he slammed down a quarter of the money he owed.

“Told you to stay quiet,” he said before leaving.

**********

“Stupid whore,” he muttered, drinking from the wine skin he had nicked from the kitchen. Her hair hadn’t even been right, but it was the closest he could find at the moment. Not that it would have helped. Nothing helped.  _ She _ was always there, in the back of his mind, and the things he found comfort in no longer held the same value. He was almost glad he hadn't found completion in the brothel. His hand was better and didn't interrupt his fantasy. 

He wandered the Keep, no particular idea of where he was going, but found himself at the godswood. It was quiet enough, and almost like the countryside he had grown up near. He sat beneath the large tree she always prayed at, taking a long drink of his purloined wine. His eyelids were heavy. The sound of the lapping waves from the Blackwater were rhythmic, hypnotic almost, and soon the Hound was asleep. 

**********

In his dreams, she was there, smiling at him, kissing him. This was no different. “You went to the brothel, didn't you?”

“Yes.” The little bird was kneeling beside him. He lifted his hand to touch her auburn tresses. “Worse than ever. Doubt I'll go back.”

“Good.” She leaned down to kiss him. “I don't want you to go back. Ever.”

The kiss felt better than he remembered from previous dreams, so much more real. His fingers tangled in her hair, her scent surrounded him. He pulled her onto his lap, his fingers finding their way beneath her skirts and into her small clothes. Her gasp of surprise had him chuckling. 

She was only slightly wet, and he stuck his fingers in his mouth before returning to the spot. She moaned as he rubbed her clit, her own arousal soon making her slick. “Sandor…” she whispered, and then a small cry as she ground herself into his hand. He licked her juices from his hand, savoring the flavor. 

Pushing her to the ground, he undid his breeches, his cock painfully hard at this point, and stroked himself as he gaze upon her. Her hair was splayed out like a sunburst, her too small dress constricting her heaving chest, her skirt pushed up past her hips. He tore her small clothes off, carefully. Even in his dreams, he was always careful with her. A finger was slid over her slit, then into her cunt. A small gasp, but no word to stop. She never stopped him in his dreams, though he always expected it. A second finger, and she bit her lip, grinning coyly at him. A third finger, and a low moan as he scissored her gently, her eyes closing as her head tilted back to expose her creamy throat. 

“Little bird… Can I… inside you?” he moaned. She nodded, and he thought he heard her say  _ Please. _ So courteous was his little bird.

Sandor pushed the head of his cock against her cunt, rubbing it, coating it in her desire, relishing the knowledge that  _ he, _ a burned monster of a man, made a goddess like her this wet. He thrust into her suddenly, earning him a cry of surprise but he kept moving, patiently and with determination until she was moaning for more. His hips snapped to hers of their own accord as he leaned down to bury his face in her bulging cleavage. He used his teeth to tear and pull down the fabric binding those lovely orbs. Nipping and sucking at her teats in turn, his rough hands kneading them, his tongue tracing a path between them. He felt her clench around him, her orgasm rip through her, but he wasn't done. He thrust harder into her, enjoying how loud she was crying out his name, how she clung desperately to him, her hands gripping tightly, holding him to her, then kissing him fiercely. He felt the familiar tingle, the one he sought in the brothels but never found. He hooked his arms under her knees, bringing her legs up so he could get a better angle, pounding into her with all his might, felt a second and then a third orgasm ripple through her. 

He stared into her eyes as he came, hissing her name, shooting his seed deep within her. “Little bird…” he muttered, falling over next to her, as she cuddled his head to her breasts. 

**********

He woke up as the sun was setting, leaves covering him where he lay, a little ways away from the tree he had sat under.  _ Buggering hells...must have tossed and turned in my sleep. _ Brushing himself off, he returned to his quarters for a hot bath before going on duty.  _ At least the nap was refreshing. _

**********

He had another dream of the little bird a few nights later. And then another the night after and the night after that. He had stopped falling asleep anywhere other than his bed, but his dreams of her took place all over the castle and even a few time outside of it. Once they had been back on the Trident, another time had been in Dorne. 

Four months later, he was walking his usual late night patrol when he saw her familiar figure disappear around a corner. He followed until he found himself high above the city. 

“I knew you'd come,” she said, stepping out from behind the shadows. 

“What are you doing up here, little bird? Plan to fly away home?”

“No, but I hoped…” She hesitantly took his hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “I want to run away, Sandor. Before the king notices our treason…” 

He stared at her once flat belly, now rounding slightly with child. “What…”

“I think it was that first time, in the godswood. I came across you sleeping, and you whispered my name. I knelt by your side and then you caught me, pulled me to you… I tried to protest but you weakened me with your kisses and...your fingers… I gave myself to you, only to realize later that you had been asleep the entire time. So I began to visit you at night, always when you slept, but you were so receptive. I couldn't stop, not when you made me feel so much, not when I heard you whisper my name so lovingly. I'm sorry I didn't wake you sooner, but I was afraid you would want to stop.”

“This,” he stroked her belly with his thumb, “is our child?” It couldn't be true, no woman would bear him a child willingly.  


“Yes,” she said with a small smile. “Ours.”

**********

They fled in the confusion of the battle, her handmaiden whisking her to the godswood after drugging the queen and sending Ser Ilyn to get the maester, while he waited for the right moment to slip away unnoticed. They traveled down the shoreline until they found his horse, tied to a tree, impatient to be off. 

It was two months of hiding, of slow, hard travel, stopping to avoid people, to rest because of the babe, though he let her use him as a bed, content to have her on top of him. She rode him well each night before falling asleep, making promises of babies and marriage. She'd sing him songs of a brave non-knight rescuing a pure maiden, of them falling in love and creating a family together. 

He wanted to believe her, that the babe was truly his, that she would take him as her husband and they would have all the babies she wanted. He never told her his doubt, knowing it would hurt her feelings if she was telling him the truth, knowing it would break him if she wasn't. 

He was separated from her when they reached her brother in the field, but she somehow convinced him to let Sandor return to her side. It took two days to do it. A septon was fetched and in front of the fucking King in the North and a few of his bannermen, he was wed to Sansa. They were given a tent, and she was more fierce in her lovemaking that night, as if she was trying to prove something. 

“You're to join Robb’s cause,” she whispered to him. “You have to come back to me. You  _ must _ come back. I will give you a hundred babies, all the love and passion I have, every night, every day, if you just come back to me. I will be your camp follower, your loving wife, and you can f-fuck me to your heart's content, but come back, please, Sandor.”

“Don't need a hundred babies,” he said with a chuckle. “A battlefield is no place for a mother to be,” he told her. “You need a maester for when the babe comes.” 

“I need  _ you,” _ she said. “And I'm too far along to travel to Riverrun by myself right now. Robb will be returning there eventually, and will be able to hide me among the soldiers. I can wait. I want to wait. I want to stay with you. And...I need to protect you from the camp followers.” She turned as red as her hair and he chuckled. With a wife such as her, he'd never need a camp follower again, whether she was in the camp or not.  


“As you will, little bird,” he said, swearing to himself that he would keep her safe.

**********

Robb set Grey Wind to guard his sister when the men went into battle. As his wife wished it, he returned to their tent as often as he was able to, to assure her that he wasn't dead and to enjoy some of the love and passion she had promised him. He preferred her to ride his cock rather than anything else. He was afraid he'd squash both her and the babe if he was on top. He also loved watching her in the candlelight as her tits bounced, growing steadily heavier with milk for the child, her hair loose and cascading down. As her time grew closer, he refrained from entering her for fear of hurting the babe, but didn't stop giving her pleasure. She only protested a bit, because she said she felt ugly and awful. Sandor countered that she could grow as big as a castle and she'd still be his little bird. She huffed but he could tell she was pleased by that. 

He was away with the army for longer than usual, eight days. When he came back, the soldiers that had stayed behind offered him congratulations though he had no idea why until he got to his tent and saw the gaggle of camp followers. A growl had them scattering like frightened hens and he entered the tent. 

“Sandor,” his little bird said, beaming at him, one of the camp followers, a blonde, had remained behind with her. “Come meet your son.”

He approached her carefully, his eyes glued to the small bundle in her arms. He was so small, could it really be his pup?

A tuft of black stood up on the babe’s head and two Tully blue eyes stared at him. “Our son…” he whispered. A cry came from the other side of Sansa, in a little basket. 

“And our daughter,” she said, with a mischievous grin. “Your seed certainly is strong, husband. We have twins.”

The blonde woman picked up the baby girl, cooing at her to keep her calm and walked her over to Sandor. “Here, Hound. She’s yours, through and through.” He took the babe in a daze, staring down at serious grey eyes that stared right back at him. His own eyes, his sister’s eyes. 

It hit him so suddenly.  _ Yours. Through and through. _

“Anyse, maybe you should go see about your man?” Sansa said. The woman nodded at Sansa, and left her alone with her husband. “Sandor, would you like to sit with me?”

He wordlessly took a seat next to her. 

“Talk to me, Sandor. What are you thinking?”

“I… I… Didn’t think... I thought…”

“You were afraid I was lying,” she said, a sad look on her face. “I suspected…you’re distant sometimes, no matter how much I tried. It did seem a bit fantastical, didn’t it? And when most of our couplings before I told you of my pregnancy were when you were asleep…” She sighed. “I suppose I was a bit selfish in that regard. More than a bit.” She looked at him, a softness in her gaze. “They’re yours, Sandor. I’m yours. Robb may have ‘forced’ our marriage, but never doubt that I went into it willingly. That I pushed for it with my brother.”

“How’d you manage to do that?” He had never considered it before. He had assumed the King was preserving his sister’s honor.

“I navigated King’s Landing and survived. Robb would have died in that same situation. It was child’s play. The gods help him if I ever decided to overthrow him.” She gave a small giggle. 

“My wife is Baelish with tits.”

She laughed at that. “I protest the comparison! I am much more mild in my machinations. I got myself a good husband, and my children are trueborn instead of baseborn. I am happy.”

He looked at her in hope. “Truly, little bird?”

“Truly, Sandor. You would know if I was lying to you,” she said with a smile. He nodded slowly, letting himself accept the happiness that he had somehow managed to find. 

**********  


“Brenna beat up the newest suitor,” Sandor informed his wife. 

“Good,” she snarled. “Never have I been so insulted! That boy was a menace, a horrible example of how a lord should behave.”

The “boy” was only ten years younger than Sansa, but acted like he was a lecher of old Pycelle’s caliber. Sandor had wanted to rip him apart for propositioning Sansa while asking for their eldest daughter’s hand, but Brenna got to him first. Brenna and Brandon, the twins, were fiercely protective of their mother, though all their children were quick to arms if anyone disparaged her. The North had accepted their liege lord’s sister marrying below her station, even applauded her husband, for Sandor was well known as one of the best fighters in Robb’s army during the war, even saving his life at the Battle of the Oxcross. The south, on the other hand, often held either ridicule or pity for Lady Sansa, which none of the children appreciated. 

“Never get her out of our hair at this rate,” he grumbled, though he secretly hated the thought of his daughter leaving. She was one of the best fighters he had ever trained, and was his favorite child, named for his little sister. She was not as gentle tempered as his sister had been, but he felt that that was a good thing. 

“Well, we only want her married to the right man, someone who will value her by her own worth and not because of her family connections.” It was a tough stance to take, but Sansa had insisted on it. “If she never marries, then maybe she can be like the Mormont women and carry on the Clegane line.”

“Improper little bird,” Sandor said fondly, giving her a gentle kiss. “What would your lady mother say?”

“I do not care. She was the one that sent Lord Insult-His-Temperamental-Host to us in the first place. And considering how she wanted you beheaded despite everything you did for Robb, I am less inclined to take her opinion on the matter.” King Robb had defended his choice of husband for Sansa. He and Robb had bonded as warriors, and Robb had taken more offense at Lady Catelyn’s demands than Sandor had. 

“Lady Merry, then.”

“Merry would agree with me,” she said, quirking her eyebrow up. “She would ask you if you'd entrust any of your daughters to a man like him. I certainly wouldn't.”

“Hmmm, true. She'll find someone, someday. Needn't worry about that one.”

Sansa sighed and leaned into her husband’s side as she gazed out the window of the solar into the training yard below. Their children were sparring against each other, save for Eddard, the youngest. He wasn't old enough, but he loved to watch his siblings. Mina and Alyn were really hacking at each other, and Sandor made a mental note to school them later on conserving their energy during a battle. Hanzel and Tybalt were fighting against the twins, but Brenna and Brandon were leagues better and in perfect synchronization. 

“They'll be fine, little bird. All of them. We raised them well.”

She looked up at him, love and trust in her eyes. He never tired of seeing that, even after nearly twenty years of marriage. He leaned down as she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. “May all their hopes and dreams come to pass,” she said. “Just as ours did.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Just as ours continues to be.”


End file.
